


Lives

by kalirush



Series: Ten Years On [8]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-02
Updated: 2011-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalirush/pseuds/kalirush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three slices of domesticity. Set years after the end of the manga/Brotherhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished watching Brotherhood/reading the manga. After I got done crying, I wrote this. I think it's my goodbye to the series.

“Who do you want to sing your bedtime song, me or Papa?” Winry leaned back against the couch, watching her daughter.

Sara kicked her legs, considering. “Engine, engine number nine,” she chanted, pointing her finger at Winry, and then at Ed, and back again. “Going down the Eastern line. If the train goes off the track, do you want your money back, Y-E-S spells yes!” Her finger should have landed on Winry, but at the last moment, she twitched it back towards Ed. “I want Daddy to sing my song,” she said.

“Alright,” Ed said, pulling himself off the couch. “Time to go up to bed, then.” Suddenly, he reached out, grabbed Sara’s ankles, and hoisted her into the air. She screamed and giggled. “Bedtime!” Ed repeated, and started up the stairs, tickling her as she went.

Winry sighed, and smiled. No matter how many times she told him not to work the children up before bed, he never listened. She glanced over at the chair, where little Al sat reading a book. “It’ll be your bedtime in a few minutes, too, sweetheart,” she told him.

“Mooom,” he said, as though she were being the most unreasonable creature in all Amestris. “I’m in the middle of my _book_.”

She started laughing. He looked mortified. “Sorry,” she told him, getting control of herself. “I guess we should have known what we had in store for us when we named you after your Uncle Alphonse.” Al rolled his eyes, and it took Winry’s breath away for a moment. Al might act a bit like his namesake, but he looked _just_ like his father had at that age. “Fifteen minutes,” she said. “Then bed. The book will still be there tomorrow, I promise.”

She had to escort a grumbling Alphonse upstairs fifteen minutes later, the book held high over his head. “ _Tomorrow_ ,” she repeated, sighing. Ed was still in Sara’s room when she was done with Al.

“Will you be home tomorrow?” Sara was asking.

“Yup,” Ed said. “Tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. The day after _that_ , I have to go to Central to see Roy.”

“I want to spend some time with you,” Sara said, firmly.

“Good,” Ed said, poking her. “Because your Mom has to work tomorrow, so you and Al are stuck with me. Now,” he added, “Go to sleep.”

“Hug and kiss!” Sara demanded.

Winry watched Ed comply. Then he got up, said goodnight again, and turned out the light. He closed the door carefully, and almost walked into Winry. “Al to bed?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she smiled.

“Ice cream?” he asked, grinning.

“Oh, yeah,” she said.

They ended up on the couch. He sat on one end, writing in one of his notebooks. She sprawled across the length, her bare feet in his lap, reading an automail technical journal. She had a mostly empty bowl of ice cream on her stomach, and he had a completely empty bowl on the table at his elbow. Every so often, usually when he was thinking about a particular turn of phrase, he’d reach down and massage her feet a little. It was an excellent perk of their positioning, and Winry was all for it.

“We should go to bed,” Winry pointed out, eventually. Her eyes were growing heavy, and she’d had to read the paragraph about bone-grafting twice.

“Bedtime?” Ed said, looking over at her, his golden eyes full of mischief. “Did I hear someone say it was bedtime?” And then he hauled _her_ up upside down by her ankles. She screamed and laughed and fought him unsuccessfully. She squeaked as he dumped her on the bed. “Special delivery,” he said, cheerfully.

“You asshole,” she told him, punching his arm.

“Such language!” he said, feigning shock.

She punched him again. “Don’t make me get my wrenches,” she threatened.

Later, with the lights out, she curled up against him. She slept on his right side, of course, because automail wasn’t nearly as much fun to sleep on as flesh. He wrapped his arm around her, kissing her neck absently.

“How long are you going to be in Central again?” she asked, considering.

“That depends on Roy,” Ed said. “Take it up with him. Better yet,” he advised, “Take it up with Riza.”

“I’m just thinking about who can watch Al and Sara,” she said, leaning back into him. “I just finished machining on the Winthrop leg, so I’m going to be doing the installation then. And there’s that Thompson girl’s hand, too.” She sighed. “Hands are hard- to be honest, it’s easier to do a complete arm than just a hand. The wrist connections are so _delicate_.”

“So I hear you tell me,” Ed said. “Over and over again. And I don’t know why you’re worried about it; half the town would watch the kids if you asked. Hell, you could just throw them out the door and tell them to be back by dinner, and I’m sure they’d be fine. Al would go read all day, and Sara would spend the day charming old ladies out of their candy.”

“She takes after you more than I’m comfortable with,” Winry said, smiling in the dark.

“Me?” Ed disagreed, laughing. “I remember a certain little blue-eyed girl doing _exactly_ the same thing at a certain age.”

“Only because I wanted to look at their automail,” Winry pointed out.

“We all have our interests,” Ed said.

“ _Hmph_ ,” Winry said, into Ed’s chest. He scratched her scalp idly with his free hand.

“Ed?” she said, after a while.

“Mm?” he said, sleepily. He stirred a little.

“Do you want chicken for dinner tomorrow?” she asked. “I was just thinking about that chicken in the icebox, and I think we need to use it.”

“Crazy woman,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Sleep now. Chicken later.”

“Okay,” Winry said, and closed her eyes again.

She had almost dropped off when Ed stirred a little. “Winry?” he said, his voice slurring with tiredness. “Love you.”

She smiled. This was still the only time he could bring himself to say it- here, in the dark, alone with her. “Love you too, idiot,” she whispered, fondly.


	2. Chapter 2

“Alphonse!” Mei said, glaring at him.

He looked up from his book, concerned. “Mei?” he asked, mildly.

She balled her hands into fists, and put them on her hips. “You forgot again,” she accused.

“Forgot what?” he asked, feigning innocence.

She burst into tears, and Al suddenly felt like a jerk. “I didn’t forget,” he told her softly, pulling her into his arms. The bulk of her belly got in the way, but he didn’t mind. The child in Mei’s belly was still such a miracle to him that it took his breath away sometimes. He avoided saying this to Mei, of course, to whom it was rather less of a miracle and rather more of a daily misery.

“You didn’t?” she asked, black eyes looking up at him, still filled with tears.

“I told you I wouldn’t,” he said, slyly. He reached into his waistcoat. “Ginger candy, just like you asked for.”

She took the packet from him, and flopped herself in among the pillows on the couch. “You are so cruel to me, Alphonse,” she lamented. “Why, oh why, did the Emperor ever force me to marry a commoner like you?”

Alphonse grinned. “Your brother owed me favors,” he said. “I tricked him with my evil foreign cunning.” What Ling had actually done when Al had broached the subject, of course, had been to laugh himself breathless. Then he’d wondered aloud why the Elric brothers were both attracted to women that could break them. Then he’d wished Al luck, with the unspoken addendum that he’d _need it_. Al had never been stupid enough to pass that conversation on to Mei.

“Well,” Mei said with an air of long-suffering patience, “At least you remembered this time.” She popped a piece of ginger into her mouth.

Al got up and came over to the couch. Mei sat up long enough for him to sit down, and then leaned back into his lap. “Not much longer,” he said, quietly, brushing his fingertips reverently over her belly.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Mei said, scowling at him. He leaned down and kissed her on the nose. She was right; pregnancy did not agree with her. She’d been throwing up the entire pregnancy, which he had been told (at length) was unusual. Now, in the last weeks before the baby was going to be born, she was short-tempered and hot and miserable and it hurt her to walk.

“Do you want your feet rubbed?” Al offered, and it was the right thing to say, apparently, because she smiled at him.

“Alphonse!” she said, smiling beatifically, “You _do_ love me.” She shifted around so that her feet were in his lap. They were tiny- all of her was tiny. Al picked one up and started rubbing it gently with his thumbs, paying attention to the pressure points of the foot. He always felt _enormous_ next to her. He’d actually worried about that size difference early in the pregnancy. He’d gone so far as to pull the midwife aside and ask if Mei would be okay, carrying his baby. She’d laughed at him, and told him it was a little late to concern himself about that. He’d looked so stricken, though, that once she stopped laughing at him, she had reassured him that it would be fine.

“Mmm,” Mei purred, happily. “What are you thinking about, Alphonse? You look so far away!”

“Just about how beautiful you are,” Al said, and that was apparently the right answer, too.

//Alphonse//, she said tenderly, switching to Xingese. She used the honorifics for _honored husband_.

//Mei//, he answered, smiling, correctly using the honorifics meaning _beloved wife_.

“You are lucky, Alphonse,” she told him, haughtily.

“I certainly think so,” Al said, grinning. “But why do you say?”

She fixed him with a particular glare. “Because alkahestry gives us the means to relieve the pains of childbirth,” she told him. “Otherwise I might never forgive you.”

Al laughed, and started rubbing her other foot.


	3. Chapter 3

“Roy?” Riza called. “Do you know where my earrings are?”

“Which earrings?” Roy asked, stepping into the room. He was dressed only in pants and shirtsleeves, and he was looking around the room with a helpless air. “Do _you_ know where my cufflinks are?”

She rolled her eyes, scooped them out of the little dish where his cufflinks _always_ were, and dropped them into his hands. “The earrings with the little blue stones,” she said. “I suppose I can just wear my studs,” she sighed, and reached for her jewelry box.

Roy stepped in front of the mirror, and picked out a tie. “I like your studs,” he said, flipping his collar up.

“Only because they remind you of me in uniform,” she accused, putting the earrings in.

“I did like the way you looked in the uniform,” he admitted, grinning wickedly. “It’s the only bad thing about leaving the military.” He looped his tie around his neck, began tying it.

“Well,” Riza said, coming up behind him, “If that’s the way you feel about it, I could get Rebecca to lend me one of her spares.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, breathing him in.

He turned then, and kissed her. He kissed her the way he did everything: with _purpose_. After a long, very pleasant moment, she grabbed his tie and used it to push him away. “Mr. Mustang,” she said, with a small smile. “You’re already running late.”

Roy smiled, and turned back to the mirror. He tidied his tie, and combed down his hair. “I can always blame it on having such a pretty wife,” he said. “Everyone will understand.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you imagine that you’re very smooth,” she said.

“Other people think so,” he said, with falsely wounded pride.

“I’m not so easily impressed,” she said, slipping on her heels. She stood up, checking herself in the mirror.

“Xingese styles suit you,” Roy said, watching her. He pulled his jacket on, buttoning it carefully.

“I thought it would be appropriate for our guests,” she said. It was also convenient that the high-necked gowns covered her entire back, of course, but she didn’t need to mention that.

“I wonder who Ling sent as his ambassador this time,” Roy sighed. “He has a terrible sense of humor about those sorts of things.”

“That’s why you two have worked so well together over the years,” Riza observed. “Ready to go?”

“You tell me,” he said, smiling at her. She checked him up and down- shoes tied, pants pressed (fly buttoned), jacket and waistcoat buttoned, tie impeccable. He really did look wonderful. His black hair might have a few silver streaks in it, but time did get the best of everyone in the end.

“Acceptable,” she sniffed.

His eyes were laughing as he took her arm. “I can always trust you to be honest with me,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. “ _Someone_ has to be.”

They started down the stairs to meet the Xingese delegation. “I’m glad I’ve got you watching my back,” he said, mildly.

“Always,” she said.


End file.
